


Into the Light

by ProfessorFrankly



Category: James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: 00Q Reverse Bang, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 00:24:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorFrankly/pseuds/ProfessorFrankly
Summary: An off-the-books operation helps James and Q reveal their relationship, and take it to the next level.





	Into the Light

**Author's Note:**

> This work is for 10kiaoi, whose beautiful artwork inspired it. I'm having trouble getting the image to appear in text, so if it doesn't show up for you, follow this link to view it: http://10kiaoi.tumblr.com/image/182216473712

Q checked his watch again.

All seemed to be in order. Though Bond was late. Again.

“Pint a lager,” a gruff voice cut through his reverie.

Right. He was tending the bar.

“Just a tic,” Q said, sliding down to the end to get a pint glass, then sliding it under the tap to pour.

The glass filled slowly, with minimal foam, and as it finished, Q stopped the tap and set it on the bar in front of the posh-looking gentleman in a fitted suit. The glass was picked up with the rough hands, something Q took note of. That particular combination was rare. Posh suit usually went with posh, soft hands.

“Open bar tonight,” Q mentioned. “No charge.”

The man’s silvered eyebrows rose. “Should have gotten two.”

Dressed posh, then, but not used to it. Interesting.

Q flashed a smile and nodded toward his tip jars. “Glad to pour you another when you’re ready.”

The man tipped his glass toward Q and pulled a couple of euros out of his pocket for the jar. “Cheers.”

The posh man with rough hands stayed at the bar, sipping his lager slowly as others started to trickle into the reception space, tucked into a corner on the ground floor of the posh hotel in the center of London. The room gradually filled up with others dressed in equally posh attire, ready for the main speaker of the night.

Funny, Q thought absently, checking his watch again,  how a bit of political conflict could bring out the worst in people.

The night’s speaker, the Hon. Joseph Quinn, checked out. A second son of a peer, Quinn had no claims on the family estate and had chosen the military route. Injured in combat, Quinn had been sent home with an honorable discharge, one arm, and a pension, leading him to become an advocate for veterans and the homeless.

One would think that such a noble person would be safe from shenanigans, Q considered, but evidently not.

The threat to Quinn at this event was low, but high enough that M, himself, had asked the favor of Q.

“I can stretch the threat enough to make it sort of official,” M had allowed. “But he was in my unit, Q, and I’d like to make sure he’s covered.”

So Q, who had a history of tending bar and could be relied upon without question for his discretion, agreed to help. He couldn’t justify placing a full team on the site, but, well, Q knew a few tricks that would allow him to cover the ground himself fairly well.

With one other trusted person to do the actual legwork, if necessary.

Which is also why Q was waiting, a bit impatiently, for Bond as well.

Bond typically didn’t do this sort of thing. As a double-oh, Bond was more likely to be sent out to assess, and if necessary, assassinate. He remained the best international asset MI6 had.

However, Bond was in London on leave, and readily volunteered to provide covert security for the reception. As a veteran himself, Bond respected Quinn’s work. And if the situation might become dangerous, Bond preferred Q not work the event alone, even if M would be in attendance as a guest.

As if thinking about the man made him appear (and honestly, Q wouldn’t put it past him), Q heard the smooth tones of the handsome, blue-eyed agent from the end of the bar. “I see the lager’s good?” Bond asked the man sitting at the bar.

Q turned to see the lager-drinker nod and smile stiffly. “Free is always good enough.”

Bond laughed. “Fair.” He caught Q’s eye, and Q readily came over. “Vodka martini, please. Shaken, not stirred.”

“Coming up,” Q said, turning to mix the drink and listening to the idle chatter. As he grabbed the Grey Goose, he also looked briefly at his monitors, hidden under the bar, to check the feeds. Entrances and exits clear, good. He had an alert chime set up to go directly to his ear, but it never paid to be complacent about tech.

He finished shaking the drink, poured it out, added an olive, and slid the glass in front of Bond, nodding toward his tip jar. “No charge, but I’m working my way through uni, so …”

“That’s forward,” Bond chuckled, filching a couple of pound coins out of his pocket.

“Well, yeah, but it’s not a hard-drinking crowd tonight,” Q admitted, shrugging.

The lager man snorted a laugh. “True. Drinks are free, even, and I’m the only one sitting here with my lager.”

Bond sipped his drink and chuckled. “It’s a good martini, though.” He held a hand out to the lager man. “Bond, James Bond.”

The lager man hastily wiped his hand on suit pants and held it out. “Michael apGeorge.”

Bond shook it, and the men went back to their drinks as Q grabbed a clean bar rag and started to wipe the bar down, glancing at his feeds.

His was the only bar at the reception, but a couple of servers were wandering through the crowd with canapés and wine. Quinn was due to speak about midway through, which gave them another thirty minutes of crowd-watching before the speech.

He served a couple of other pints to those not interested in the wine, keeping an eye on his feeds and listening to Bond make small talk with apGeorge.

“You served?” Bond asked.

ApGeorge nodded. “Infantry in Afghanistan. Came back whole, unlike some, but I’ve made my mark. You?”

“Navy,” Bond said briefly. “Still technically a commander, actually.”

“Hm. Wonder how many of these blokes out here are vets?”

“I’d say a fair few,” Bond allowed, then caught Q’s eye again. “I’ll take another.”

Without comment, Q mixed another drink for Bond, using the non-alcoholic stores he’d kept for that purpose. Bond gave him a bit of a look when he took a sip, but maintained his role admirably.

Q just smiled, serenely, then went back to his feeds, idly noting the infrared flares on some of the guests as they arrived via one of the public doors. Most flares were nothing, but the occasional weapon could make itself known on camera, if the image was caught correctly.

He served another pint, wiped the bar down, gave Bond a flirty smile alongside a third drink, and kept his eyes on the room. The crowd seemed to be an interesting mix of posh and not, though all made an effort to blend in, and Q thought Bond was likely right about the number of veterans in evidence.

The high-pitched squeal of the microphone at the small stage toward the back of the room, opposite the bar, alerted everyone to the start of the speeches. A nondescript-looking fellow with dusty brown hair and an equally old-looking suit stepped up to the mid and cleared his throat, the sound echoing through the room. “Yes, hello? Right.”

The crowd quieted.

“I’m John Rees. As many of you know, I organized this reception tonight to give us a chance to hear the Honorable Joseph Quinn speak on behalf of the Veterans Association. This privately funded organization works to help British veterans to secure housing and health services, especially mental health services. Quinn has been working with the group since his own return from Afghanistan as a disabled veteran some years ago.

“I was honored to serve with Joe myself, and I’m particularly honored to introduce him here tonight. Without further introduction, I give you, the Honorable Joseph Quinn.”

Applause rang out, and a tall, silver-haired gentleman, well fit but for the empty sleeve pinned up at his left side, stepped up onto the platform and took the microphone that was handed to him.

Quinn began to introduce himself and talk about the initiatives through the Veterans Association that he’d been trying to find money for, and Q scanned the crowd again, an ear tipped for a feed alert and an eye on the mostly male group in front of him. He spotted M near the front, in his usual suit, and as his eyes swept left, he spotted another gentleman, dressed posh, rough hands, carrying a weapon. His eyebrows rose, and he tapped his wrist.

Bond casually glanced at his watch, then looked up in the direction Q had indicated. He tapped the bar. “Another, please?” Bond said quietly, so as not to disturb the speech.

Q nodded, mixing up the nonalcoholic version and sliding it to Bond, who let his fingers linger over Q’s as he drew in close. “Sidearm and shoulder holster,” he breathed into Q’s ear. “Can we get an ID?”

Q drew back, smiled a little flirtatiously, and said, a little louder, “I’m off after this, if you’re serious.”

Bond let his hand linger, and he saw apGeorge roll his eyes a little. Bond tipped the man a wink. “I’m always serious about a gorgeous young thing like you.”

Q let himself blush. “Just let me check the schedule and make sure I’m covered.”

“You do that,” Bond said, and let his smile reach his eyes.

Q turned back to the counter, digging out the obvious tablet, and making a show of checking the schedule while simultaneously running facial recognition software. He kept an ear on the speech, glancing over the feeds as the search continued. A soft chime in his ear alerted Q to the back-door approach of three additional armed men, all posh, with rough hands. All their weapons looked to be concealed, but Q identified them readily through the infrared scans.

He pursed his lips, and wandered back over to Bond. “Well, it looks like I’m free after this.” Q ran three fingers over the back of Bond’s hand and nodded toward the back door, the one that opened to the alley rather than to the rest of the hotel. “I could meet you there.”

Bond quirked a grin, picked up his drink, and nodded. “I’ll meet you there, then.” He wandered off.

ApGeorge turned back to the speech. Q looked back at his feeds, directing the infrared to scan the man at the bar, but it found nothing. Idly, he watched Bond stroll outside the front and come up behind the men at the back door, easily taking all three down and zip-tying them before calling for assistance on his watch.

Q turned around to view the room, tablet in hand, and looked to the man near the front. Facial recognition was having trouble identifying him, but even as Q watched, he saw the man start to sweat.

Evidently, he was waiting for a cue, and it hadn’t come.

Q tapped his screen and sent an alert to M’s watch.

M spent the majority of his time in the office these days, but he’d been active military, and an asset. While it wouldn’t be ideal for the Director of MI6 to do a takedown on his own, M was more than capable of doing so if necessary. M tapped his watch to send an acknowledgement, but made no other move.

Q approved. He sent another alert to Bond, who, he noted, was handing his quarry off to the MI5 agents they’d hand on standby for domestic matters. He watched as Bond checked his watch, nodded to the agents, who had things well in hand, and strolled back around the front to come into the bar.

The armed man looked to be sweating buckets at this point. Q actually saw one of the attendees standing nearby wrinkle his nose at the stench.

Quinn, however, took no notice, as he talked about the need for better housing, mental health services, and job security for veterans, finally finishing with the announcement that the armed men had apparently hoped to prevent: “This is why I’m standing for election to Parliament this election. Our country needs leadership that will not fail its most vulnerable and valued citizens, and I believe I’m the person to lead that fight.”

Flashbulbs went off all over the room as applause broke out, and M calmly used the momentum of the moment, and the cover of noise and applause, to bodily drag the armed man off the floor and to the waiting agents at the back door.

ApGeorge pursed his lips. “That’s that, then.” He lifted his glass with his left hand, and with his right, drew a plastic gun.

Missed on the infrared, Q snarled to himself, then hit the button on the back of the bar.

The hidden stash of weapons appeared in flash of mirrored bar backdrop, and Q smoothly grabbed the Glock, pressing it to the back of apGeorge’s head. “Drop your weapon, please,” he said, nodding to Bond, who strolled up on the other side of apGeorge and disarmed him. “We’re not allowing murder and mayhem today.”

ApGeorge clenched his jaw as he was relieved of his very illegal weapon and zip-tied for the waiting agents outside. “He’ll win. He’ll win and then we’ll have wreck and ruin in the country. The man’s a poof for God’s sake.”

Q rolled his eyes. “As am I, but look who has the gun?”

Bond looked up thoughtfully. “It’s a good look for you, Q.”

“What, the gun?” Q batted his eyelashes a bit and simpered.

Bond laughed as he hauled apGeorge away. “Competence.” He let his gaze linger on Q for a moment. “It’s a bit of a kink of mine, actually.”

Distantly, Q heard Quinn apologize for the commotion and redirect his speech to the waiting crowd. ApGeorge did not go quietly, acting like a rabid dog, snarling and shouting curses and homophobic slurs as he was dragged. Q enjoyed watching Bond manhandle the would-be assassin over to the waiting MI5 agents, who took the man away.

Bond straightened his coat, shot his cuffs, and fluidly sauntered back over to the bar. He leaned over it, to speak quietly right into Q’s left ear.

“Someone who can simultaneously make drinks, watch security feeds, and take down security risks with a well-placed gun? Trips all the competence triggers.” He tugged on Q’s earlobe with his teeth.

Q shivered a little, then stepped back, replaced the gun, and pressed the button to conceal his wall of weaponry. He leaned back into Bond’s space. “Really does it for you, does it?” He peered up at Bond, green eyes peeking from under sooty black lashes. “Want to see how I create new software programs while simultaneously making excellent tea?”

“I really, really hope that’s a euphemism for a blow job behind the hotel,” Bond said bluntly, and grinned.

…

Turns out? It was. Q grinned widely as Bond “danced” him out the back door to the deserted alley where he’d taken out the thugs earlier, then kissed him soundly. “Like that, do you?” Q said softly. “I don’t see any tea ‘round here, but there’s a nice bit of concrete.”

Tension seeped out of Bond’s muscles as he became Q’s lover, James, and he chuckled. Setting teeth on Q’s jugular, he whispered, “On your knees, then?”

“It’s most efficient,” Q said seriously, barely concealing a grin.

“By all means,” James said, and gently put hands on Q’s shoulders to push him down.

Q went willingly, then unbuckled James’ belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled his half-hard cock out of his briefs. “All for me,” Q murmured happily, giving it a lick before pulling a condom out of his pocket.

“Medical cleared me,” James said softly. “I’m clean.”

Q looked up at him, batting his eyelashes a bit. “Then this can go back in my pocket,” Q conceded. He shoved the foil packet into his pants pocket. “And use it later, to contain the mess when you fuck me into my mattress.”

“I like a man with a plan,” James agreed.

With that in mind, Q leaned forward took James into his mouth. Without fanfare, he licked and sucked until James came, hard, into his mouth. Q swallowed, then looked up, aware that he had a bit of come on his chin, and equally aware that James would be turned on by that.

“Fuck,” James said. “Let’s get you home. I want to do really nasty things to you.”

Deliberately, Q licked the come off his chin. “Can’t wait.”

James watched, transfixed, then hauled Q up to plunder his mouth, heedless of his opened trousers, which Q efficiently zipped and buckled while he was being kissed within an inch of his life.

James let Q go for a moment, then looked down. “Damn. Competency.”

“Might be your biggest kink, eh?”

“Maybe,” James admitted, then steered Q down toward where he’d parked his Aston Martin.

The drive to Q’s place took barely any time at all, at speeds best reserved for car chases down the Autobahn, and Q thought they were lucky to avoid the police. They parked in front of Q’s sedate brownstone, happy to see a spot free, and James kept his hands on Q’s ass as they made their way up the short flight of stairs to the front door, where Q used his biometric scans to let them in.

Q laughed as his lover barely managed to close the door to his flat before jumping him. “Competency, hmmm?” Q closed his mouth over James’ collar bone and nibbled. “Looking to see how quickly I can get you off, again, then?”

James ran his hands up Q’s back, hanging on to the man who was making him crazy. “Nah. I know you’re competent at that. Actually, you’re more than competent at just about everything. It makes me crazy, watching you in action.” James pushed Q’s jacket off his shoulders while shivering at the sensation of Q’s mouth on his neck. “All controlled command and cool efficiency. I think I came a little when you pulled that gun.”

Q chuckled into James’ neck, then lifted up. “I think you have a gun kink, too.”

“Not sure I’ve met a spy who doesn’t have at least a mild gun kink,” James admitted, busily working on the buttons of Q’s shirt so he could shift that off of him, too.

“You’re terribly competent yourself, here, getting rid of my clothing,” Q mentioned, before pushing James’ jacket off.

In short order, the men were naked and grinding on each other in the living room, having yet to reach Q’s bedroom, and trading lazy, slow-burning kisses.

“Mmmmm,” Q hummed delightedly, “I love the way your skin feels on mine.”

James rubbed himself a little closer, his cock gliding against the groove between Q’s hipbone and happy trail. “You always feel so good,” he murmured against Q’s mouth. “Can never wait to get home to you.”

Q pressed himself against James again, then sighed, and withdrew slowly, sliding a hand down James’ arm to lace their fingers together and tug. “Bedroom, please,” Q said, leading the way. “I want that gorgeous cock of yours inside me.”

“That can be arranged,” James said, his voice going deep as he followed Q.

Q’s bedroom featured mahogany trim on sandy walls, with navy curtains, and a king-sized bed angled just enough to catch evening sunlight, filtered through the cream-colored shades underneath. The navy duvet and nest of pillows looked freshly made. James chuckled.

“Hoping for company?” He ran a hand down Q’s back, then reached down to pull the duvet off. “I’ve never seen it this neat.”

Q blushed a little, ears pinking up. “Maybe. I’d hoped we could revisit our night before you left on the last trip.”

“Hmm, I think we ought to make a few new memories on this visit.” James practically purred as he placed one broad palm on Q’s chest and pushed him down to the clean, Egyptian cotton sheet. “I think I’d like to start with returning the favor you paid me in the alley.”

“Oh?” Q teased, scooting himself back until his head found the pillows. He let himself relax into their support and ran his right hand down his chest, over the flat planes of his belly, to grasp his hard cock. “You want to make some tea for me?”

“No, but I’d like to blow you, get you off, finger you until you get hard again, then fuck you into the mattress,” James said calmly, crawling up the bed to cage him in with strong arms.

Q smiled slowly. “Well, if you must.”

“I must,” James said, and leaned down to kiss him again, slowly. Q hummed in appreciation when James left his mouth and started using his own on every inch of Q’s naked skin he could reach.

It took awhile.

By the time James reached Q’s cock, it was leaking, and Q had to grab handfuls of the sheets on either side of himself to keep his hands from just shoving James down to suck him. That, he’d found, didn’t work with James. He’d just get more stubborn about going slow.

When James drew Q’s cock into his mouth, _finally_ , Q let himself go, reveling in the feel of James’ silky mouth and tongue on Q’s heated skin. Somewhere, distantly, he heard the click of a lube bottle opening, and spread himself wantonly, legs hooked over James’ shoulders where he’d muscled between them to suck down Q’s cock. His efforts were rewarded with the feel of James’ slick finger just circling the rim of his hole, and it was enough to set him off.

James swallowed him down, keeping the gentle pressure on his rim, and lifted off as Q’s shudders subsided. He petted Q gently, loosening up the muscles there, then slid a finger inside him. Q shuddered hard, once, but spread his legs further to allow James all the access he wanted. In this, too, James couldn’t be rushed.

James took his time, loving the little sounds and shudders Q made as he stroked the lube into him, leisurely moving from one finger to four over what felt like hours.

True to James’ word, Q was again hard and leaking by the time James pressed his condom-covered cock to Q’s hole and slid home, earning himself a punched-out sigh of relief from his partner. James leaned forward, practically bending Q in half to reach his mouth for a deep, deep kiss, and waiting until the tension left Q’s muscles before moving, and putting his back into it.

Q met him stroke for stroke, and if there’d been a headboard, they’d have been banging it against the wall. As it was, Q was holding on to James with both hands, lost in the pleasure of the thick cock inside him and the feeling of it brushing against his prostate, the sensation of James’ skin sliding against his own ratcheting up the pleasure until with a shout, Q came, squeezing down on James so abruptly that James came, too, more quickly than he’d planned.

“You little devil,” he whispered into Q’s ear as he rutted slowly. “You know I don’t like to be rushed.” But there was a smile in his voice.

“Stop being so good at this, then,” Q said, rasping, “because I can’t help it.”

James snorted, slowing down to a stop and catching his breath, mouthing lazy kisses down Q’s neck under that ear. They lay still for a long moment, then James, reluctantly, slipped out of Q, tied off the condom, and headed for the bathroom to dispose of it. He wet a cloth at the sink there, and came back to Q, cleaning him gently.

He put the cloth in the hamper, then slid back into bed. James relaxed back on the the pillows, tucking himself around Q, and pulling the duvet over them both. They drifted contentedly for a moment, before James asked, quietly, “How on earth did you get that cabinet of guns installed in that bar in time for the reception?”

Q stretched lazily, tucking his head into James’ neck. “I just restocked it. It’s one of several we’ve got stashed at secure locations for these kinds of events. Apparently, Quinn asked M where he should hold his announcement reception, and M asked me. It made sense to do it somewhere we already had prudent precautions in place.”

“Did you know what Quinn was going to announce?” James asked idly.

“I’d gathered,” Q admitted. “I wasn’t quite certain why there would be resistance to Quinn standing for Parliament until apGeorge went on his little homophobic rant. I don’t think it’s common knowledge that Quinn is gay, but he’s been in a relationship with Rees for at least a decade.”

“And how did you know that?”

“M told me to vet Quinn, quietly, to see why we were getting chatter about potential violence,” Q said. “As you said, it didn’t make a lot of sense for a disabled vet to face such open hostility. I turned it up as part of that process.”

“I see,” James said thoughtfully, then tucked his arm more firmly around Q.

In the post-coital hush, Q let himself doze, and James followed him into sleep.

…

With the morning also came breakfast, the newspaper, and a further statement from Quinn about his continued commitment to running for Parliament. Quinn also took the opportunity to introduce his partner of more than fifteen years, John Rees.

Q read out loud, “‘It is apparent that some would prefer to see me continue to hide my relationship with another man, rather than allow me both my partner and my love of service to my country. I refuse to bow to that kind of thinking, and I am proud to enter into this election with my partner at my side.’” He cleared his throat. “I can appreciate a man that takes a stand.”

James poured himself more coffee. “I think he’ll have even more supporters because of this, personally.”

“One can only hope,” Q said, folding down the paper, then looking up. “What’s on our agenda today?”

“Well, I don’t really have one for today,” James admitted. “I finished the debrief yesterday, so I’m really just on standby. What about you?”

Q shrugged. “I’m free for the day, too. R’s on duty as I took on last night. I’ll want to check in on 008’s op, but otherwise? Not a thing.”

James sat down in the chair opposite Q’s and regarded him thoughtfully. “Do you think we’re hiding the way Quinn and Rees were hiding?”

“What?” Q choked on the sip of tea he was taking. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve been lovers, when I’ve been in London and not out on assignment, for more than two years, Q,” James pointed out. “But I don’t think anyone besides we two actually knows that.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “Do you want other people to know? I was under the impression that you wanted to keep our shenanigans under wraps to protect your reputation as the ultimate honeypot.”

James rolled his eyes. “MI6 didn’t issue my cock, and it can’t tell me how to use it.”

“Oh, well, then,” Q burst out laughing.

James shook his head. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation, here.”

Q tried to stifle his giggles. “Yes, sorry. Carry on.”

“I’m just saying, that I’d like to be able to tell people I have a partner, too,” James said patiently. “I know you’ve always been a bit flippant about me, but I really do want to be your partner, Q.”

“James,” Q said, wiping his eyes on a napkin. “If I’ve been flippant, it’s because you’ve made no effort, up until this point, to share your feelings on this subject. Our job does require you to occasionally use your sex appeal to get information. I understand that, all too well, and I didn’t want to get my messy feelings all over you.”

“But you do have them?”

“Have what?”

“Messy feelings?”

“James, what are you asking me?” Q said, seriously, taking James’ hand and squeezing it.

“I’m saying that I have messy feelings for you,” James said. “I’m saying that I don’t want to use sex appeal on missions anymore, because I want to be true to you. I’m saying that I want to come home to where you are, have fantastic sex, eat all your American bacon, and make you tea when you’re tired. I want to go out in public with you, introduce you as my partner, and take you places we’ve always wanted to go together. What I’m saying, Quentin, is that I love you.”

Q stared, stunned. He opened his mouth, closed it, then cleared his throat cautiously and said, “I love you, too, James. Yes. That. All of that.”

“Yeah?” James’ smile could light up the room.

“Yeah.” Q surged up and straddled James’ lap. “All of that. Every word. Except we’ll just make more bacon. No point in not getting enough to share.”

James kissed him, lightly, then drew back. “Settled? And while we’re at it, do you realize that I never sleep in my own flat anymore?”

Q thought about it. “Hm. You’re right. I can’t think of the last time you slept there when not out on assignment.”

“I even keep a few of my nicer suits here,” James allowed. “I think we ought consider the fact that I basically live here.”

“Might as well make that official, then,” Q nodded, smiling widely.

James tilted his head forward to tap his forehead to Q’s. “I’d like that.”

“So how official do you want to get?” Q breathed into James’ mouth. “Because I have your medical proxy and power of attorney. If you’re moving in, we’re one piece of paper away from a civil partnership.”

James drew back. “Well, if you’re asking me to marry you, Q, then I’ll expect diamonds. At the very least.”

Q laughed. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” James said, firmly, and kissed him.

…

Three months later found James and Quentin standing in the same hotel ballroom that led to their engagement. They looked out at the waiting crowd from their perch at the front, pleased to see many of their closest friends in attendance.

Eve Moneypenny, dressed to impress, stood in front of them, as their officiant. She’d had to get ordained, but in lieu of acting as either man’s attendant, she’d settled for conducting the ceremony.

Q had argued that there would be plenty of witnesses to sign the paperwork, and that he didn’t need an attendant, when James was already his best friend.

James had gone soft at that, and agreed.

So, clad in matching black tuxedos, accented with blue, green, and gold striped ties and waistcoats, the pair turned to each other as Eve began the ceremony.

“Well, then, gentlemen,” she said pertly. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

Q laughed, taking the lead, as was decided in rehearsal. “Well. I’ve come to marry this man, my James, for all of our friends to see. We thought we’d hidden the fact that we were together for the last two years, but apparently, we’re not as subtle as we thought. Which is probably a bad thing for our chosen profession.”

The crowd chuckled.

“James, I love you. I know it took me two years to say it, but I’ve felt it from the very beginning. You make everything brighter for me. I look forward to every moment we have together, and I send you into the field with every possible asset I can think of so that you can come home safely to me. Even if you destroy all the equipment I send.”

James smiled a little more widely at that, but said nothing as Q continued.

“I promise to make double the amount of American bacon for breakfast so that there’s enough to share. But my biggest promise is this: I promise to have your back and to stay at your side, whatever life throws at us.”

Eve smiled and said, “Do you have something to say to that, James?”

“You should probably triple the amount of bacon,” James allowed. “But I understand the sentiment. Quentin, I love you. It was a gradual thing for me, but by the time we ran that op, right out of this very room, I knew I was in over my head, and I wanted to be. I know you can handle yourself. I see it every day, and I know you can handle me. You made me the promise that I now make you: I will have your back, and stay at your side, whatever life throws at us.”

Eve now had a tear in one eye, but still managed a cheeky, “Rings?”

Q pulled a wide titanium ring, inset with tiny diamonds in a single line around the middle, out of his inside pocket, and slid it onto James’ left ring finger. James fluttered it a bit, earning himself more chuckles from the audience, before pulling out a matching ring from his own pocket. He slid it onto Q’s ring finger, and held himself very still.

Hot blue eyes met green, and Eve rolled her eyes.

“Yes, yes, right. Kiss him already,” she said.

Their mouths met in a deep, wet kiss, and their small crowd of friends whooped.

Q drew back a little, resting his forehead on James, and whispered, “I love you.”

James whispered back, “I love you, too.”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
